Hello, Goodbye
by eyesvacant
Summary: Maybe my subconscious mind convinced me to do it on purpose, so I could get out of that shithole. But so far, every place I've been to is a shithole. So I'm not holding out too much hope for this new one. (J.D./OC One Shot. Rated T for language. Reviews are very much appreciated!)


The third school in two months. The third school. How does that even happen?

I moved there, then we moved here. And I went there. But I got expelled for saying some shit I could of held my tongue on and threatened some things they knew I would have gone through with in a heart beat.

It's those girls. Those girls who think they're hot shit because their father's have memberships at country clubs. Those girls who think they're hot shit because they have shelves and shelves of croquet trophies that their mothers polish on a day to day basis. Those girls with their pastel vests and their feathered back hair.

Those girls.

Maybe my subconscious mind convinced me to do it on purpose, so I could get out of that shithole. But so far, every place I've been to is a shithole. So I'm not holding out too much hope for this new one.

I walk into the cafeteria, my bag held tightly to my chest, a scowl crossing my face. I'm always scowling, even if I am in a good mood, which is rare. I scan the room quickly, careful not to make eye contact with anybody. I sit down at a nearby empty table and keep my eyes close on my lap and the nonexistent print of my dark grey skirt.

But I can't help it. A very pastel piece of fabric swishes in my peripheral vision. I shudder.

"Marcia! Hey! Lunchtime poll question... What would you do if you had one day to live?" An extremely too-friendly voice comes from a nearby table. It's pastel girl. I also notice how red her blazer is. A bright, fiery red. She writes something down on her clipboard and... No. She's turning to me. Oh, fuck, she's turning to me.

"Lunchtime poll-..." She looks up from her clipboard, stopping to stare. Her hair is a shock of feathered back curls, dark brown eyeshadows covers her lids, and it looks as though she's taken the exact shade of her blazer and smeared it on her lips.

"_Ohheyyyyyyy_," She whines, "You must be the new girl!" She's too friendly. I don't like it. I nod my head at her. "I'm Heather Chandler. This is Heather McNamara and this is Heather Duke."

Heather. So much... Heather.

"Lilith..." I say in a raspy, dead tone. "Lillith Cawlfield. Like Holden Caulfield, but spelled differently."

Heather Chandler stares at my blankly, nodding slightly. Deep in her eyes, though, there's something there. Extreme boredom and judgement. McNamara and Duke stare at me with that same something in their eyes.

"Well..." Heather Chandler cocks an eyebrow at me, "Welcome to Westerburg."

As she turns away, I hear her mumble something along the lines of "fucking weirdo" to her friends. One of the others, I think it's Heather Duke, says, "She should hang herself with that skirt. It's horrid."

I pull out my copy of The Catcher in the Rye and start reading it for about the fourteenth time. I like my books. I don't like new books. I like the books I have and I'll stick with them until they fall apart. Then, I guess I can get new ones.

"Greetings and salutations," A deep, gruff voice affected by some sort of accent rings in my ears. I look up. He has the eyes of Sid Vicious and the eyebrows and menacing voice of Jack Nicholson. His mouth twitches into a smirk.

"I'm sorry, but I think I've had my fill of assholes for the day," I get up to move, clutching my book close to me. He places a hand on my shoulder almost urgently and pushes me back down. I glare up at him, but for some reason I stay in my seat.

He sits down, sticking a cigarette between his lips.

"You can't smoke in here, dumbass," Heather McNamara yells in a rather nasally voice from the other table.

He ignores her, lighting up and taking a long drag. He exhales through his nose. He notices me staring at him, because he gestures towards me with the pack. I shake my head.

"Like Holden Caulfield, but spelled differently, huh?" He grins at me. He has nice teeth.

I nod at him, looking him up and down, biting the inside of my cheek. "It seems like you know enough about me, eavesdropper. Who are you?"

"Your book..."

I look at him, then down at my book. The author.

"J.D?" I look at him for a minute.

"Not Salinger, but yes, J.D."

My eyes narrow on him. The bell rings. J.D. rolls his eyes and gets up, stamping his cigarette out on the ground.

"I'll... I'll see you around," I get up. I'm stunned, hypnotized by this boy.

There's something about him that we have in common. We're both a little off. There's something not quite right in both of our minds, and I think if we worked together, we could be something great.

"Yes, you definitely will." He replies.


End file.
